


under, over

by jeoncoeur



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeoncoeur/pseuds/jeoncoeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll turn you under and over, inside and out, and play with the strings of your heart like they were made to be manipulated by his finger tips.</p><p>Being afraid has never felt so good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under, over

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. forgiveth me, i'm also bts trash and i didn't have the willpower to not crossover a little  
> 2\. Iota Phi Theta is a real fraternity but im just using the name because honestly, I didn't want to drive myself crazy trying to make up a random one w/ my perfectionist ass.  
> 3\. I'm not actually American or in university so some stuff might have been like ???, please just accept it  
> 

Time.

That's all evenings like these come down to, stealing pockets of minutes and seconds, rushing from coffee with Lena, best friend of four years and her broken-in-by-3-months silvery haired girlfriend Su-Min (both of whom knew you hated coffee, so you decided to be enraged at the fact they'd invited you to third wheel at a fucking _Costa_ ) to a subway ride through hell, hoping and praying that it would come flying off the tracks, killing you in one bone crushing swoop. Wishing that if the whole freak-accident thing was too much of a stretch for the powers above, trying to compress your life into a series of humiliating anecdotes, they'd turn the men who are making no secret of the fact they're clearly scoping out the curve of your ass and bare thighs turn blind.

Admittedly, it's not the lack of time molding your face into a scowl, or the bitter slickness of coffee on your tongue pushing curses from your mouth as you jog back to the apartment complexes just outside the university, backpack straps looped around one hand.

You aren't even that angry at the fact you let Lena, coffee loving and alcohol adoring fiend that she is, convince you that a Friday night party at the biggest frat house on campus hosted by none other than Jung Hoseok - talented, hyperactive and infuriatingly loveable second year - was worth hauling ass and soul for, practically kneeing yourself as you sprint up the stairs to your apartment that you'll actually have time to shower, change, and ready yourself for untold hours of social interaction.

The door jams a little as you shove it open, kicking both shoes off as you jog across the apartment, shedding clothes like a damp second skin and muttering a silent blessing to the powers above that Lena is so enamored with her petite little lover, she wanted to get ready at her place, and can't shut you up as you screech your irritation into the empty air, but that's a part of this place's slightly battered charm and it's not why you want to hit something, hard.

It isn't, you decide, the stares of men that have left your stomach mess of thorns and irrtation - you're used to heavy breathing as you pass by groups of workmen and streetsellers, comments muttered as you adjust a bra strap - sure, it makes your stomach heave and palms tingle with the urge to slap someone, but on the morning of this particular Friday, you'd felt good. More than good, in fact, you'd felt jubilant, that would have been the word you used to describe the reason your eyes had lit up and the corners of your lips had lifted as you dressed at 7:00 am, slipping into your thinnest and prettiest bra - a blue halterneck piece with sheer triangles for cups, outlined in lace; shorts with a flatteringly high waist, nails painted, hair swept off the skin off your delightfully sunkissed neck into a bun, pastel crop top tying the look together.

Painfully self conscious at times you may be, but walking past the mirror of your apartment at 7:30 that very morning, you'd felt beautiful, secure in every curve and dip of your body. Confident that this would be the day you'd finally,  _finally_ pluck up the courage to talk to Taehyun.

It had been a plan, solid to the core: he'd come out of the lecture hall for Musical Theory at approximately 3:00pm, denim jacket tied at the waist, fringe held back with the pair of quirky pink sunglasses you adored and you'd brush your hand along his shoulder, just as he rounded the corner into the hallway; smile up at him with a hint of blush around your cheeks and ask, so casually that not a hint of nerves would be detected, " _Hey, Taehyun-ssi, I was just coming to ask -_ _are_ _you going to Hoseok's party tonight?"_

Taehyun, surprised that you approached him but unable to brush off the question because in all the time you'd known - or, observed from the corner of your eye when the lecturer isn't doing enough to keep your attention away from him - wasn't rude by nature, no matter what the whispers of ex girlfriends and boyfriends said and you had to take reality into account so with that, his response would be something like:  _"Yeah, probably. l'll see you there, I guess?"_

You curse aloud, through both hands - "Fucking  _hell_." 

You're under the shower, tipping your head out of the way to avoid the water's touch - it's lukewarm but contrasts well enough against the humidity of the bathroom to have your nipples hardening, fingers trembling lightly as you scrub body wash across your breasts, along both thighs, lift a leg to rub it over your feet. The scent is light, sugary enough to be girly - not enugh to sweeten the sting as you remember Taehyun's glaringly empty seat in today's lecture. 

You'd spent the day preparing, forcing your breath to slow in a struggle to control your pulse. You were going to do one of the many things you'd wanted since the days of your first semester, turning up late to the first Music Theory class of the year, out of breath and on the verge of a small but severe breakdown after trying to navigate the university hallways.

Since he'd smiled at you, dark eyes holding yours even as the professor had tutted and _tsk_ ed, nodded as you'd slid into the seat next to him. Since the moment he passed you a pen, somehow catching the way your face fell as you realised in the rush to make it to class your pencil case had made its own great escape, and your entire body had jolted at the a millisecond of finger-to-finger contact.

 If he'd actually bothered to  _show up_ , you'd have given your name to him for the second time in a year, a little bow, and walked the other way with grace, poise, and a swing of the hips intended to keep his eyes fimly on your backside, given that the universe was kind to you.

But there'd been no Taehyun, smelling of a cologne you'd never been able to place, making it that much harder to focus on anything but the way one leg crossed over the other, knees bare through the rips of his jeans, long fingers tracing a thigh, drumming the inside of his leg in a slow beat, practically caresing - sometimes, you were sure he did  _that_ on purpose, just to make sure you knew that your place in the world was 'pervert, fascinated by the way Nam Taehyun's jeans fit his legs and make his crotch  _that_ much more of a focal point on his body'. He doesn't look like he matches any of what's said about him - destructively good kisser, the kind that bites a little, lover of marks and rope, cuffs made out of leather and the kind of fucking that's rough, possessive, dominating, a little mean. 

 _This is the kind of shit,_ you think, shutting the water off with a slam of your hand,  _that gets you in trouble. Listening to bullshit like that from exes who like to overshare...everything_.

And _everything_ is exactly what goes through your mind as you hop and skip over the sodden bath mat that needed washing three days ago, grabbing the first bottle of lotion from the counter as you run on tiptoe across the hall, into your bedroom. The most popular rumour, about what Taehyun had between his legs, the size of it, and what he could do with it, how it kept people coming back to him on their knees, mouths open - a favourite position of his according to Mina, a tiny little thing with cropped hair and no sense of common decency from your debate club.

You've gone over and over why it is that those rumours make you hot and wet, right in the middle of a classroom, a hand gripping your pen and the other making a fist, clenching and unclenching, hips shifting with want. And that's the part that makes this worse - the deep, wrenching pull of lust in your stomach that you haven't felt in... an amont of time that, really, is a little depressing to think of when you think of it. It's stirred, reared it's powerful head every now and again, but until Taehyun flashed you that soft, wide eyed smile, you hadn't felt enough of a connection to someone for it to be an issue, but good god is it one now.

You want to curse Taehyun the most out of everyone, for turning you into this slightly desperate half mess with her priorities screwed up.

And by that, you don't mean that your schoolwork is suffering or you've turned you into a completely horny, depressive recluse - that only happened once, for half an hour, when you realised that you'd been imagining the taste of Taehyun in your mouth, the tip of his cock specifically, on the way home from class and had missed your stop on the subway because of it. Following it was an emotional 15 minutes of trying to discreetly shift your panties into a position where they weren't pressing, snug and sticky, against you. Then, another fifteen of trudging home, defeated.

You're as social as you can be until you're too exhausted to keep up with the rest of your friends; you still read, and go hunting with Lena for the most obscure cafes with the best student discounts. None of the things that make you _you_ have changed, it's the other parts. The routines you carried with you as small comforts from home, to keep you sane through the very first months of university, these are pieces you don't recongise anymore.

The last thing you used to do before sleeping was dive into the chapter of a novel, relishing the fight of trying to keep your eyes open for a few more words, you're tossing the book aside in favour of two fingers on your clit, one deep inside of you, moaning,  _yearning_ for a boy with slender hands and careful gestures that you keep locked in your head; that don't match the rumours swapped between hands during bathroom breaks.

You reflection grimaces, mouth curving into a tined line of dismay as you apply a final slick of eyeliner, the dustings of eyeshadow. It's just enough to enhance, falling well within your embarrassingly limited make-up applicaton skill set, and save for that your skin is bare; the night is too hot for anything more than a thin layer of body lotion - not yours, something stolen from Su-Min and whatever the manafacturers managed to squeeze into it has left a subtle sheen of glitter along your cheeks and eyes.

It's a look you've never truly managed to pull off - a delicate, doe-eyed version of yourself with sun kissed cheeks and a dewy gaze that you can only link to the tingle of hope grabbing at your lips edges and turning them upwards. The possibly that you might,  _might_ see Taehyun at this party, that you may glow just bright enough that instead of giving you a silent head inclination of acknowledgement, he'll see the way your dress - a thin cotton shift, simple and distinctly _summery_ - is sheer enough that in the right lighting, you can see the dusky pink of your panties and a hint of the matching bra beneath.

That, perhaps, he'll look you in the eye in the way you've imagined in a thousand different ways and from dozens of angles.

You're practically vibrating with excitement, wandering towards the door with a tiny brown handbag that can only fit your purse and phone slung over one arm and a watch adorning the wrist of the other -

A watch that, you realise with a cold slap of dread, reads ten  _thirty three p_ _m_.

Ten thirty three, when you'd told Lena and Su-Min you'd meet them outside of the frat house at 10:00pm, on the dot, no excuses. 

" _O-oh crap."_

You want to blame Taehyun and his face in particular, or your lack of ability with an eyeliner pen, or maybe God, but you decide that praying you don't fall flat on your face while you fly out of the door, slamming the heavy lock on the top of it into place without bothering with the flimsier one beneath it, past the elevator that's probably on the verge of collapsing in on itsef at this point, and pelting towards the subway to this  _stupid_ party - giving thanks for _that_ particular miracle is probably the best way to stay on Fate's good side.

 

__

 

 _This is insane_.

At 10:50 on a Friday evening, Iota Phi Theta is by no means of exaggeration, the newest defintion of insane.

It could also be a synonym for  _gratuitous_ ,  _erotic_ , and shit, is it  _loud_ , even if whoever is the controlling music has good taste and even better speakers - the bass of Jay Park's  _Mommae_ is practically reveberating in your gut. There's barely an inch of space between the people grinding, tugging and pushing and swinging their hips against each other as you make your way past them, squinting in the near darkness that seems infuriatingly consistent throughout the whole house, balancing the cup of soju Hoseok had wrapped your hand around,  guiding you away from whee you lurked by the front door, taken aback by how a place so definitively fancy could have turned into a scene from every teen movie in history. 

"Here, small one - take this," had been what he'd whispered into your ear, swaying only a little on both feet as he steered you through the pulsing, swaying crowds of people. You'd been given an affectionate head pat and a white-toothed smile before he backed away into the crowd, leaving you adrift in the living room feeling only slightly out of your depth. There's fluorescent paint smeared on thighs and necks, handprints of it on the floor - it's not as bright, given that the place isn't completely dark, but it's enough to give everything a distinct feel of  _typical college party_ that's almost relaxing. It's no big deal, nothing you haven't seen in films before -

There's a crash from somewhere above you, a tinkle of glass cracking on the floor, and silence from the entire top floor. Gasps, the shuffle of feet, then:

"Is he dead?"

You pause, leaning on your elbow against a wall smeared in purple for balance - you're pretty sure that if someone  _is_ dead, it's your job as the sober one to call an ambulance or get Hoseok, probably both.

"Shit, is he _really_ dead? Like, actually -"

"I'm good, guys, don't...worry 'bout me!" is the loud, slurred declaration, in the voice of what sounds suspiciously like Kim Taehyung (first-year acting major who spends more time hanging around the music studios with his relatively tiny, bright-haired other half, waiting for Bunny or Jungkookie or whoever the kid is to finish up than doing much of anything else). There's a chorus of startled cheers, surging up over the music and with a sigh you shuffle through the crowd, ducking under arms and weaving towards a place of relative quiet in the house.

 _No need to be freaked_   _out_ , you think,  _not even by really, really obvious boners or people grabbing the boners with both hands or any of this - just find the kitchen, or one of their big ass fucking balconies, call Lena, find out where she is and, maybe, have some fun._

You lift your head, defying the urge to sit in a corner, wait for someone to realise how out of place you are and lead you towards the nearest exit. No, you're practically a college party virgin a proud bibliohpile and bearing the brunt of heavy introversion, but it doesn't mean you're not going to power walk your way through this sticky, sweaty crowd of people and find somewhere to rest

It does mean, however, that you learn power walking through a frat party, especially one involving fluroscent _anything_ in liquid form, is a horrific fucking idea. Your skin is smeared with patches of violently bright purple and pink, streaks of it are settling into the fabric of your dress, you're clutching your bag between your breasts for fear of it snagging on someone's bare nipple ring and being carried away in the height of someone's ecstatic dancing.

Yeah, you're exaggerating, but it's been a depressing day and pushing through the crowd is like wading through mud - except the mud is actually smoke, dim lighting, people leaning against walls with bottles plastered to their lips, gaggles of dancers grinding their pelvises in the general direction of any casual onlooker. It's exhausting, infuriating, in fact so there's no room in your head for hesitation the moment a gap opens up in the crowded hallway, ducking through it in a matter of seconds.

 _Thank god_.

The air is still clouded with smoke at this end of the hallway, and too dimly lit to look anything more than cosy-and-a-little-creepy, but it's refreshingly, mercifully empty, with only a single door to your left, slightly ajar. A promisingly warm light glows through the crack and that alone is enough to have you racing over, kneeing the door open to avoid paint touching the polished oak, and shutting it behind you with a subdued click.

The room is practically cold compared to the rest of the house and it's crowded hallways, even with heavy curtains drawn over the windows and thick carpet to muffle your foosteps; the walls covered with external insulation in, to your violently nerdy delight, bookshelves. Tall, sturdy bookshelves, stretching from floor to ceiling. Everything is warm, every corner smudgy in the soft ligh from the corners of the oversized oak desk you lean against and place the cup of soju on top of to the novels you brush your fingers across, the party dropping from your awareness like unwanted weight.

You can feel the tension slipping from your shoulders, the sound of your breathing overriding the lone strands of noise that manage to leak through the walls, and it's perfect.

Until the door slams open behind you, sending you crashing into the bookshelf with a an almost pathetic squeak of surprise. You're turning around in the next instant with a jumble of apologies and embarrassed  _um-ah-sorry-i-was-just-taking-a-breather's_ crowding beneath your burning cheeks - then, stopping, dead in your tracks, silently.

"I can't see a fucking thi - wait, is someone there?"

 With the lights from the hallway shining behind him, over the angles of his face, makeup a little smudged beneath his eyes above flushed cheeks, lips wet and pink, hair falling over his forehead in tangled waves - Taehyun looks, for the handful of seconds he pauses in the doorway, like an angel with a rough voice and collarbones that you can't take your eyes off, because they're so fucking  _blatant_ in the shirt he's wearing. It's a long, thin black thing, sliding off one shoulder, pooling round his thighs. (You want to lift it, just above the waistband of his torn up jeans, and see everything if everything you've dreamed about being there is true.)

You haven't moved, spoken, breathed - won't give yourself the chance to be the reason you're forced to watch him walk away again. It's hard enough to form thoughts as he cocks his head to the side, taking a small step through the doorway, and it's like Music Theory all over again, except you're less sure that he's purposely exposing the black choker wrapped around his neck, sliding his tongue round the edges of his lips just to make sure you can't say a word.

Inside your head, you're laughing breathily, telling him it's fine to come in, that you just needed a breather. You're saying something, rather than leaning back into the furthest wall from him, consumed by heat, from the tips of your toes to the palms of your hands. You're burning up at the sight of him and it's a wonder that you don't dissolve into ashes as he looks up, eyes landing directly on yours, and with a surprised arch of his brow enters the room, slamming the door shut with a kick of his booted foot.

"So you wanted to hide out, too." 

There's no hint of the high, smooth timbres in Taehyun's singing voice as he makes that statement. You don't see the mild-mannered over-achiever with a filthy reputation and an attitude at odds with his usually beatific smile or the boy who reassured you with just a well-timed gaze months ago - this Taehyun, the one holding your entire body in captivity as he makes his way forward, flipping a small metallic lighter between the fingers of his right hand, isn't even the same one who poked his head through the open doorway with eyes squinted. 

He's magnetising, from the way the side of his mouth curves into a smile to the slip of his tongue over his bottom lip, nose crinkling in amusement as you nod once, twice, a third time. Your tongue moves, lips part to allow a quiet, "It's all a bit...much, for me." 

You don't mean the party, really - no, you don't mean the party at all, because you've pretty much forgotten that it exists by the time Taehyun stops, half a metre from where you stand, a hand resting on the desk, back to the shelves.

He's close enough for you to register the fact that he smells of vanilla and musk and a heavier, goosebump-inducing scent that jolts your heart into overdrive. Close enough that you catch the scent of mint on his breath, as his gaze slides from your eyes to your mouth, registering the slight tremble in your bottom lip; it flickers over every part of you, resting on your bare shoulders, heavy on the places your dress hugs your body and you are more aware than ever of how thin and short and _nothing_ it really is - a woven veil of pomp and circumstance at something too small to even call distance.

Taehyun isn't ashamed to let you see him drink you in, catch his tongue between his teeth for an instant before it's dampening his lips again and in turn - though involuntarily - you don't hide the way your breath shakes as you inhale. There's no way to disguise the fact that you're committing every feline, destructively beautiful area of his face to memory: sloping nose with a pouting cupid's bow mouth beneath it, cheekbones sharp even under the touch of the shadows, skin unmarred by nothing more than light marks under his eyes. 

"I'm guessing that," he says, voice no higher than a hypnotically low murmur, "it's not what you imagined," he rolls his shoulders back, eyes flickering up to the ceiling in a show of consideration - "and that you're out of your depth with all this stuff." He's closer by mere centimetres and you don't know how you managed not to notice - maybe it's because your eyes were fixed on the solidity of his shoulders and the barely-visible skin beneath that begged for touches, licks, explorative bites and kisses.

"I wouldn't say I'm - I'm not out of my depth, really, just - I like being alone, and this -" your hand moves against your side in an attempt to wave, encompassing the bedroom in the gesture, but it seems to have simply given up as you finish with a lame, "I like it, so, yeah." You're flushed from the effort of saying that and it's so painfully obvious that you're just what he said - in over your head, out of place, drowning in the atmosphere.

But it doesn't hurt to drown, not when the space between you is suddenly eaten up by Taehyun's body, the lighter tossed onto the desk as if it's a gauntlet and his first fighting move is to smile as the way your fingers twitch towards his hand where it lies beside yours on the wood. The second is his laugh, low and silky as you close your mouth with a light _pop_ and finally, the bomb to all the thread-thin barriers you had in place is this - his fingers, tipping your chin up, holding it where he wants it to be.

You're gone for, done for, a mess with weak knees and a body that doesn't know what the fuck to do with itself except that almost give out as Taehyun rests his other hand on your hip, curling his hand around it in a move that leaks possession into your skin.

 "I see you, _____," Taehyun murmurs, letting his other hand settle on your hip, "but I know you think I didn't."

_How in the fuck could he know -_

"I see you," he repeats, and this time there's a rasp to his voice that dances between lust and something unidentifiable in the state you're in. "And I know you see me, too."

You don't know what to do, or say, except, "Oh, god," which is pathetic and dumb and you go to turn your head away out of embarrassment but then, then - he's kissing you, fitting his mouth along the curves of your own as if you were made for each other.

And if you thought you were in trouble before, you might as well call the police and tell them that there's been a goddamn murder because Taehyun is practically tearing you apart with nothing but a kiss - full mouthed, damp, messy and hard, as hard as you can feel he is as you're pressed between him and the bookshelves of some stranger's room, hip to hip, a leg planted between your thighs to keep them apart and your fingers are in his hair before you have a chance to overthink all of this.

He nips at your bottom lip, sucking and tugging it between his teeth, digs his fingers that much harder into your hips - and, going by the fact his hips rolled forward, fluid and forceful, the moment your hands became fists in his hair, Taehyun isn't completely unaffected. It's hard to keep that in mind, though, when he's smiling against your lips, raising a hand to hold your chin and pulling back just enough to watch you gasp for air - and it takes very ounce of willpower not to whine aloud as he slides the fingers of his other hand along the back of your thigh, squeezing the underside of your ass with careful fingers.

"You want this, right?" The words are spoken against your neck and chased all the way up to your ear with a scattering of kisses, nips of teeth that have your stomach twisting and a moan building in your throat. "I need to hear you say it, or I'll stop." 

Taehyun presses his mouth to your jaw, twists his fingers into the material of your dress and leaves them there, only a centimetre more of bare skin made available by the movement and it's not fucking  _enough. Nothing_ he's doing is anywhere near close to dissuading the need to be naked before him, on your knees or back or anywhere, in any position, if it means he'll stop setting your skin alight with kitten licks along your collarbones and use the palm skirting along the underside of your tits, fingers so close to your nipples that they harden just at the proximity, to fuck you open, send you spiraling into the kinds of orgasms you've only heard about.

You have no doubt that if anyone can make you cum like that, the way everyone dreams of, it'll be him. He's barely done anything to you and you're trembling and panting, so wet you're almost leaking onto his leg - and the bare skin of it, probably, but you're not in the state of mind to be ashamed that the thought of that makes everything better.

You didn't know that your entire body could respond to the sensation of a goddamn belt buckle pressing against your stomach and just beneath it, the weight of his cock warm and heavy against you - you can't even glance down, for fear that you'll do something all too embarrassing at the sight. You're desperate, teetering on the edge of a place you've only reached with one person (you don't even remember his name at this point but he gave you your first taste of what it meant to let someone own every strand of pleasure that existed in your body, if only for an hour or two and you've never forgotten it since); it's almost impossible to resist the urge to drop off the tips of your toes and grind down onto Taehyun's thigh - so desperate for friction against your clit, the touch of something other than soaked silk, that your voice is just a series of gasps as you tell him, "I want you, now, right fucking  _now_." 

Taehyun pulls his thigh from between your legs abruptedly, fingers stilling at the edge of your panties and you stop too, swallowing a groan of frustration down because there's no justifiable reason for him to do this,none at all, so you go to tell him, dropping your hands to his chest to cling to his shirt - which is a wrong move, or maybe the right one. Either way, it's that movement that has Taehyun twisting his hand into your hair hard enough to make you gasp and you don't fight the shock of fear, the jolt of lust that follows - it's so much better to let him guide your head from left to right, a moan dribbling out of your mouth as he finally pulls your head downwards with a softly spoke declaration of, "You've really made a mess, baby."

Made a mess is a pretty severe understatement in your opinion - the denim is smeared with your wetness, the hem of his shirt sodden from getting caught in the fray and god, his skin, too, it's shining wet in the room's low lights and you try really hard to be embarrassed about it, but you can't bring yourself to. Taehyun's eyes are dark, glistening nearly black and you practically drool at the sight of his index finge dragging straight across the patch of moisture, rolling back and forth to coat it completely. 

It's a matter of instinct when you don't do anything to stop him tugging your head forwards, slicking your lips with the stickiness, whimper as he flicks his tongue over your mouth, sucks his finger and hums contentedly, mumbling, "So fucking sweet, jesus," around the tip as he lets it slip from his mouth, eyes hooded as he looks down at you.

There's nothing cold about his eyes, though they're almost black in this light, pupils overblown - hot and wide and so focused that it's almost too much to look at him, but you don't want to look away. You want to capture and frame every detail of his face from the splashes of pink in his cheeks to the swollen curve of his mouth to his hair, messed from your fingers and slung forwards in a tangled heap; you want to kiss him, so hard that there's blood and pain, enough of it to stop the feeling of unreality prodding at your back.

 _I need to know that this is real_ is what you say silently, dropping a hand to his belt to yank him close to you, digging your fingers into the leather and you see surprise soften the tension in his shoulders, taste it as you lean into him.  _Show me you want me_ is what you say, with nothing but a wet open-mouthed kiss at his collarbone, another at his neck, as Taehyun takes a long step backwards, one hand fully grasping the curve of your ass, his other hand resting on the back of your neck, fingers gripping the space along your hairline - and it occurs to you then, as he moves back again, almost cradling you to him as you stumble, that he's suddenly become careful - no, wary. He's watching you watch him in silence, almost unblinking as you raise a trembling hand to place it against his chest, feel him inhale (it shakes, just a little) and feel his heart slam up against your palm.

You don't want Taehyun to be careful. You want the opposite of _ca_ _reful_ , the opposite of  _shy,_  you want him to fuck you and break you and use the belt around his waist to tie you back together again, but you don't know which button to press, how to make the switch happen, so you do the first thing your body and mind agree on - drop to your knees, landing heavy on the carpet. There's no way to hide the sweat lining your chest and the glow you can feel burning in your cheeks or disguise the heaving in your chest, every breath becoming harder to keep even as you reach up to curl your hands round the backs of his thighs, close your eyes and let your tongue seek out the curve of his cock through his jeans, slide your tongue across the material and moan.

_That's got to be enough, right?_

Three seconds of silence follow, and then -

"Fuck this."

You squeak in shock as Taehyun wraps his hands around your arms, lifting you straight off your knees and onto the tips of your toes, a snarl - an honest-to-god _snarl_ \- rippling in his throat, rumbling against your neck as he nips and licks and bites, here's not even a moment to breathe in before he's kissing you so hard your stomach flips, his tongue slipping around the inner edge of your mouth, diving in to claim it as his own and fuck,  _holy fuck_ , there's his fingers brushing against your cunt, massaging your slit through your panties in lazy little circles. Your hips respond before you can think, rolling back and forth against the tips of Taehyun's hand as much as you can this high off the ground - you're trying not to drop back down but apparently, that's not the plan here, because the moment you let a moan slide from your throat Taehyun dips his a finger into your panties, giving a second to align it to your hole and then pulls you down by your arm.

It feels like you're going to cum, or die, or both as you stumble and slide straight down onto Taehyun's index finger, stilling in shock as the entire length of it disappears into your body unobstructed because it should be impossible for a single finger to be that long and feel  _that_ good.

"God, you're so fucking  _wet_ ," Taehyun groans, curling the digit upinto you as far as he can, "so wet for me, baby, _shit_ ," and you don't hear if he says anything else because you're too focused on keeping your moans at an acceptable level, staying on your feet but that's almost too much to ask when he's pumping his finger into you hard and slow, a hand gripping your right hip, tugging it forwards to so your clit makes contact with his palm - you just focus on the sensation, rocking your hips as much as the position will allow on unsteady ankles right up until the second he spins you around, pulling his finger away with an obscenely wet pop and lets you fall to the bed.

This is better than anything you imagined during late night showers when sleep was too far away for you to reach. It's better thanany imagining of how Taehyun would look, grabbing onto your legs and shoving you up the length of the bed to make room for himself; you've said his name too many times to count, moaning it into a pillow, imagining the sheer joy of seeing him fix his eyes on you the way he is now - but how on earth could it compare to the real thing; when he's pinning one of your legs against a stranger's cool bed sheets and peppering the thigh of the other with hot, sloppy kisses, pressing his tongue flat against it to taste sweat and the remains of body paint and one trickle of arousal that escaped the confines of your panties? How could you have been stupid enough to think that the ache of your pussy after you've shoved three fingers inside of it, chasing a lonely high, could have anything on the way your clit aches as Taehyun presses his thumb to it, the sting of his open hand as he slaps your free leg into submission when it jerks upwards in response.

"You trying to hide from me, ____?" Taehyun lifts his head, eyes narrow, and the sound of your name coming from him sounds like the embodiment of sin (how you ever thought he could look like an angel is beyond comprehension) - you shake your head in response, opening your mouth to protest that you didn't _mean_ to but he stops you from half sobbing the words out with a hand, fisting in the material of your underwear which looks, suddenly, all too flimsy. "Are you going to try - " he lifts himself up onto both knees, tipping his head to the side and down as he twists his hand in a tight circle - "and keep that pretty little cunt of yours all to yourself?

Technically, you could try to remember how actual sentences were pieced together and normal words sound, attempt an answer but it feels a little pointless when Taehyun is looking down at you with a look in his eyes that says he already knows the answer - you're his, all his, attached to him by invisible strings from every inch of your body as it arches and shakes. The only response to his question is a resounding no, communicated with a frantic shake of your head, written in the quivering of your hands as you fling them up above your head to show him as much of you as possible, put it all on display.

 _God help me,_ you think in the split second of quiet stretching between Taehyun and you,  _because I'm in so much fucking trouble_ -

"Wrong answer."

 _What_?

And then he's suddenly  _close_ , all shoulders and chest and thigh pushing your own up and outwards - he smells so good it hurts, the scent rolling off him and over you in waves as he hooks a hand around the neck of your dress, grips onto your panties and, with his gaze firmly fixed on yours, tears them from your body as if it's  _easy (_ and not a move straight from a fucking book).

"Good girls like you, _____," Taehyun says, leaning closer with each carefully pronounced word, "shouldn't be alone with guys like me. Didn't anyone ever tell you?" 

Everyone has told you - from Lena to Sun-Min to that one teaching assistant at the start of the semester has told you that Nam Taehyun is a bad idea. He's not what he seems, he isn't how he appears, dangerous, possessive,  _nasty_ but here you are, in over your head and out of your depth, shivering at the sound of your name (who knew that you weren't invisible to him after all?) curling from his mouth, every syllable drawn out.

Being afraid has never felt so good.

You tip your head up, let your knees fall to the side to let Taehyun get as close as he can and the next kiss is a mess of your tongues and a brief clash of teeth that leaves you dazed and shivery as Taehyun's hands tangle through your hair, keeping you still as he nips at your bottom lip, touching his lips to yours when you moan at the sting. You're arching up away from the bed, fingers clutching at the loops in his jeans as his mouth pulls away from yours, brushing against every inch of skin from your jaw to your neck to the slope of your breasts, until he ca flick his tongue over your nipple, plastering his mouth to your tit as if he can't get enough of the feeling - hell and sin and everything you're meant to avoid is written into the stinging pain of Taehyun suckling at you, squeezing your hips tightly, letting his fingers dance up and down the length of your thigh.

He pushes the words, "I've got you," into the skin just beneath your collarbones, sealing them in with the clamping of his teeth onto the skin and it's true - he's got you where he wants you; gasping for  _more more more_ , tossing your head to the side with a moan of " _God, Taehyun,_ " and then he's pulling it all back, hands pressing your hips to the mattress with a firm push, forcing you into stillness as he sucks and bites his way down your abdomen, trailing his tongue over the indentations of his teeth with a reverence you feel in the brush of his eyelashes against your navel.

Good girls don't get to go to heaven, that's true - but who needs heaven when you can capture the way Taehyun brushes his nose along the soft bumps of your ribs, catches the skin over your hips and hovers there, kissing at it and pausing to watch you shiver when his breath slides over you. He gives a hum of contentment, brushing his thumb up and over the hickies dotting your body in a myriad of colours that make your heart skip, hard and clumsy.

 Taehyun pulls back, giving himself just enough room to tug his shirt off and over his head - and the sight of his bare chest, smooth skin over taut abs, with nothing but a mole on the inside of the  _v_ formed by his hips, pale and perfect, makes the hundreds of days leading to this moment more than worth the wait. There's nothing but the rustles of the sheets as Taehyun clamps his hands down over your wrists, punctuated by a moan of impatience and dismay, a soft  _fuck_ from Taehyun that's downright filthy, bitten out on the end of a rasping groan and then even that is drowned out as he does the worst and best thing he could possibly do:

Let his head dip down between your thighs, licking and kissing at your cunt, tongue toying with the entrance in kittenish licks and sloppy circles, up and down and in between your folds as if missing an inch of you would be a crime - you didn't expect him to give you this, not when he's teased and toyed for what must be eternity but he seems to have finally,  _finally_ snapped - his hands are clutching at the skin of your thighs, the edges of his nails digging in and after a moment he gives up on teasing entirely, huffing breaths out of his nose and moaning around your pussy, offering up a wet, barely legible "so fucking  _sweet,"_ that you're distantly surprised you can hear when his tongue is so far inside you. The one hand he forgot to pin down quivers and shakes as you lift it, tangle it in the longest part's of Taehyun's pair, pulling his mouth as close as it can get to you with as much force as you dare and you're rewarded with his fingers, the  index and middle scissoring you apart, stretching you wide enough that you feel yourself practically leak out onto his tongue.

"Taehyun, I can't, god, _please -_ "

"Can't what?" There's a laugh bubbling between Taehyun's words as he says them, twisting his fingers in achingly slow half circles that have you keening, kicking at the sheets and scrabbling to free the hand he uses to pull you into a sitting position. "Can't keep going?" He presses close to you, catching your ear between his teeth, kissing it in the next moment and it's a confusing contrast against the ache as he adds a third finger from his opposing hand, curling it up to reach that sacred spot inside of you with such accuracy your entire body seems to melt. You don't have the will power to stay upright, slumping back against the pillows and there's no way you can form words between the long, keening moans leaking from your mouth that Taehyun drinks up, crowding you.

You're too afraid to moan in the way that he seems to like, will make him take his fingers away just so he can sit back and watch you beg - and even if begging is the least of what you'd be willing to do to get some part of him back inside of you, it feels like a risk your bleary mind is set against taking.

But then, all of that stops mattering much as you realise that between making you feel like you'd die of unspent pleasure before he was done with you and now, Taehyun has undone his belt, and jeans and discarded of them both - his cock isn't bare, no, but it might as well be and you'd give anything for it to be. His boxers are thin, grey cotton and do absolutely _nothing_ to hide the long, thick curve of his dick, the wet patch darkening where the tip presses against the material. There's a moment where all you can think of is sucking it, tasting it, but then Taehyun is pushing his fingers deeper, reaching up to push down against your stomach so that when he curls his fingers up and around your struggles only make it worse - then you're cumming again and everything is blank for a stretch of breathless bliss and white vision.

Then, his voice, yanking you back to the present and the feeling of his fingers working you back up again, pumping in slow, hard strokes - "Watch."

 The heat in your cheeks should come from embarrassment as you look down and see the wetness soaking into the pastel blue covers of some stranger's bed, but arousal drowns the shame in waves, cresting as Taehyun takes the fingers of his opposing hand and spreads the folds of your pussy, humming appreciatively, at the sight of his fingers pumping slowly enough to have you groaning in both frustration and pleasure.

"I'd make you lick this up," he murmurs, voice casual and low and just a little unsteady, "if it was my bed you gotten cum all over." His palm flattens against your clit, making the minute twitching of your hips suddenly intense as he continues, "I'd fuck you while you did it and make sure you didn't cum before it was cleaned up," and it occurs to you that there's such a thing as _too much_ when it comes to pleasure - you hadn't realised how sensitive your clit had become until it's being ground against in quick little circles by Taehyun's hand. The working of hs fingers back and forth inside of you has your legs kicking at the bed, back arching up as the low order for you to  _cum, now_ has your vision flashing, body tensing against the pleasure-pain snapping through it. 

A crinkle and the touch of something cool against your back makes you jump as Taehyun guides you back onto the bed, pulls his fingers out of you while keeping up a stream of murmurs that sound like  _so beautiful, so good for me_ against your ear. His hands work beneath you, tugging the little packet away with a lopsided smile that disappears the moment you slick your hand in a few unhurried swipes of your tongue, reach out and brush it against the outline of his cock, watch his hips instantly shunt forward, seeking more.

He's leaning back on his knees, the blue packet forgotten, momentarily, legs spread. His thigh muscles shift, veins delicate under the skin and you're unashamed as you watch him, breath held tight in your lungs - because every inch of him is too beautiful not to drink in. From his low, ragged breathing with a hint of a moan twisting beneath it; the clumsiness nudging at his movements as he works his boxers off, tossing them to the side of the room without taking his eyes away from you. Mouth, damp and slightly ajar, eye lids fluttering as your hand finally wraps around his cock, fingers surprisingly steady even if your breath is uneven at the thickness, the slight curve up towards his stomach, pre cum slippery under the thumb you drag along the slit. 

In the half-light, pushing up from the balls of his feet to bring his cock that much closer to the palm of your hand, Taehyun groans, gasps as your hand slides down his shaft. His hand slips down, warm - a little damp too, and that should be gross but there's also a slick of sweat outlining the curve of hip bones and all you want to do is lick it, so you decide that in these moments, you find nothing about him gross. It settles over yours, guiding your fist downwards as his hips roll up to meet the stroke and a moan - more like a rumble, really, it's so low - vibrates in his chest. 

Triumph brings a lazy smile to your mouth that you instinctively go to hide - after everything, knowing that just your hand can have as much of an effect on him as he does on you, it feels like a step towards to making the playing field even - but, of course, it's not, because this is Taehyun and it's as if he can feel you working away just a sliver of power in the gentle twist of your hand as it strokes downwards, the squeeze you give to base of his cock that tugs a hiss of pleasure from him.

His fingers close around your wrist and your hand is pinned above your head, followed by the other, and they're both squeezed softly in reassurance. "Hands up until I tell you to move them, understand?"

You nod once, pressing down the pout trying twisting at your mouth's edges. He'd been close to losing control, maybe letting _you_ be the one to mark up the expanse of his pristine skin, and that's why you're not allowed to touch him now. You're certain that having to watch Taehyun tear the condom open with (now completely steady) hands, slide it down over his cock at a  _deliberately_ slow pace, is all just designed to have you dissolving beneath him into a whimpering mess, clenching and unclenching your hands just so you can move something, anything. Your nails sink deep into the meat of your palms in an effort to follow his orders - not that you want to disobey. because at this point, delaying the feeling of having him inside of you is adownright frightening prospect, but you have no idea where you're finding the willpower to keep still as Taehyun places a hand on each of your knees, presses them down almost flat to the mattress, voice soft - "Eyes on me now, babygirl."

It's easy to forget everything - the bass of a new song pounding at the walls, the shouts and hollers of partygoers, responsbility, a tinge of nerves - as Taehyun settles between your legs, presses his cock at the opening of your cunt. Nothing much matters to you as his lips close over yours, a slow, wet kiss holding you both in a moment of motionless quiet as you trade gentle moans back and forth, let him lick into your mouth until all you can hold onto is the very last vestige of your pride even as your hips are shifting in short, jerking motions.

Taehyun wraps a single hand around you wrists, pressing just the right amount of weight to keep them against the pillows. You won't give in to the desire to beg and plead, no but allow yourself a whimper, a kittenish sound that has Taehyun squeezing your wrists reassuringly, pressing kisses along one cheek, your jaw, eyelashes tickling briefly at the skin - a whimper that is suddenly a full-bodied moan because he's pushed inside of you, fingers gripping on your thighs; and it should probably be uncomfortable, to have his fingernails sinking into your skin and his mouth suddenly working over the outside of your ear but you're being filled up, stretching around Taehyun's cock as if you were designed to be fucked by him, exactly this way, but you're all too small at the same time because there's a pronounced difference between  _touching_ a dick that big and having one inside of you.

"Oh my god, ohh -  _fuck_ ," are the only sounds you manage to produce as Taehyun stills, only moving to curl his hands behind your knees. His lips kiss, teeth nip, hi tongue hot and wet as it flicks over your neck (another mark he's probably all too proud of) - and you're so hot you think you might light on fire. You might die like this, with Taehyung's cock moving in slow, tiny circles, and in some small, dim part of your mind, you wonder how the fuck he can be so quiet when even  _you_ can feel how tight you are around him - but then he moans, loud and low and in the back of his throat, hands digging hard enough into you to hurt but even that doesn't feel hard enough. 

There's a split second where you feel like you can breathe, do something other than whine and whimper under him but in the next Taehyun is dragging his hips backwards, pausing to catch his own breath and slamming back down onto you once, twice, a third time, using his grip on your knees to pull you down onto him so that every wriggle only has his cock hitting a new spot and your eyes roll back, spine bowing up as if tugged by a string only to be flattened with a harsh shove of Taehyun's hand, pushing on your lower stomach. Before this, the movement had never made much sense before - what could be gained from a hand anywhere that _wasn't_ slapping at your ass, or at your throat? - but the presssure of him leaning into your navel, rolling his hips with that sinful fucking fluidity, the sound of breathy half-gasped moans flinging themselves from his mouth - it all culminates into this tightening feeling, deep and harsh from the pit of your stomach to the base of your spine. 

You open your mouth, words of supplication tingling on your tongue -  _let me touch you, I need to touch you,_ something to bring that mouth back to yours, that skin under your own hands. You want to taste the curses he's mouthing and groaning into the air, flick your tongue over the outline of your name and Taehyun must feel the same, because you're suddenly being lifted into his lap as if you weight nothing, Taehyun's cock half inside of you as your legs settle at his sides and he's leaning back just enough to kiss at your chest, gasp out the words  _ride me_ against your mouth as your lips collide. It's a messy, harsh kiss that tastes of desperation and something between soju and strawberries, mint and blood, all mixing into something so intoxicating that your hands reach up to cup Taehyun's face almost instinctively, to keep him from putting an inch of distance between you as you slide, slow enough to hear him enter you again (and you'd be a liar if you said that the sound wasn't one of the hottest fucking things you'd ever heard). 

Taehyun's hands are possessive and burning on your back, holding you close and tight to his chest as you pull upwards, mouth only brushing against Taehyun's shut as you mimic the way he slammed down into you earlier - only now, your fingernails are digging into his shoulders, using them to lever yourself up and back down onto his cock with an obscenely wet sound. Your voice is reduced to a series of gasped nonsense sounds and Taehyung's hands don't seem to know where to settle, drifting over your hair, tugging at the strands so his mouth can have better access to the slope of your neck; fingers raking down over your back and ass in short, sharp little bursts that give a delectable edge to the band of pleasure stretching tight and warm in your stomach.

You're close, again, and this time Taehyun seems to be too, if the erratic thrusts of his hips into you, still only a little out of tempo and hard enough to have your own hips stuttering, are anything to go by. You work a hand into his hair, twisting and pulling as hard as you dare and the sounds Taehyun gives you is enough to have your orgasm so close you can't speak. His thighs flex against your legs and the damp slap of your skin against his as you roll and bounce against him, lean backwards just enough for his dick to hit a place you don't have a name for - and  _fuck, fuck_ , you can't even see as you cum but your mouth keeps moving, chanting  _yesthankyoufuckinghellyes_ against Taehyun's mouth - and you're proud that you didn't scream, even prouder that it's Taehyun who's the loudest as he cums, yells your name at the end of a rush of gruff, filthy curses, slamming himself up into you as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm.

The only sound left as you collapse back onto the pillows, Taehyun following close behind, is the sound of panting - then, the rustle of the duvet, the barely audible pop and Taehyun's soft " _ugh_ " as he pulls the condom off, presumably tying it up and tossing it somewhere. Your eyes can't hold themselves open, so you settle for listening to footsteps pad softly across the room, the scrape of paper - no, tissue - plastic rustling. And even when you feel soft hands, ghosting over the line of jaw, your limbs being moved, an arm lifted, leg shifted, and the heavy duvet being tugged over your body, all you can manage is a sleepy noise of confusion, followed up with a low, startled "W _hat'reyoudoin'_ ," as you feel Taehyun mould himself to the shape of your loosely curled form, sling an arm over your waist.

"Gotta - gonna sleep, now - s'my room, so, is'safe," is the murmur Taehyun responds with, and you're still conscious enough to give a snort.

After all the preparation, the planning and stressing, everything managed to fall into place around you anyway.

You turn over, battling the grip of Taehyun's steady grip and shushing his sleepy protests with a clumsy hand, and force your eyes open just long enough to catch a glance of him. He's half-asleep, face soft and mouth just pursed enough to make a pout as he tugs you a little closer, throwing a leg over your waist. His lashes rest against his cheeks, softening the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the half-tangled, half-fluffed mess of his fringe sweeps low over his eyes, accentuates his nose as he wriggles it, a smile curling at the edges of his mouth as you finally settle against him, shifting your head for a second longer until you can find the sound of his heartbeat.

"S'okay," he breathes, amusement just barely audible in the sound, "I'm still alive, _____."

You give him a tiny smile and the lazy flick of your fingers against his stomach, concentrating on the warm, vital thump against your ear - even without pressing a hand to the left side of your ribcage, you know that your own has slowed down to match it and even the sigh of contentment you give is synced to his own. He smells of vanilla and heat, the softest kind that's gentle on the skin and the last kiss you feel pressed to the center of your forehead feels turns your heart under and over, halting your intake of breathn in it's tracks.

It's clear to you, now, written in the tangle of Taehyun's legs through your own, the whisper of something short and sweet against your skin as he succumbs to sleep, that even if the gods or the universe or even Satan himself has it out for you just because it's funny, that they also - just, maybe, it's not set in stone - have your back, too, just a touch.

 _This_ , you think,  _is exactly where I'm meant to be._

And even if it's not, and you've just gone against the grand designs by falling asleep in Taehyun's arms with the sound of bottles crashing to the floor and his soft, delicate snores as your soundtrack - if you've broken three thousand rules by pulling him that half-inch closer - you don't care, because after all, who needs fate, destiny, heaven or hell?

_I'm exactly, one hundred percent, where I'm supposed to be._

**Author's Note:**

> i died trying to edit this, please enjoy my legacy
> 
> social medias:
> 
> tumblr: @doeguk (most active here atm)  
> twitter: @doegukkie  
> non fic-writing ig: @raggedhearts
> 
> ALSO, also - my writing commissions are open, which means you can get a tailor-made fic - any pairing/length/AU, multiple fandoms, etc - from me! take a look through[this thread](https://twitter.com/corpsehearts/status/942368069250371585) and if you've got an idea, just message me !
> 
> if you can't commission me at the moment, don't worry: keep leaving kudos, sharing/reblogging, commenting and interacting. i appreciate it all so, so much <3


End file.
